


To Kill the Monster Within

by Lady_Akuma_Wolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depressed!Sam, Hurt!Sam, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicide, Voicemail, suicidal!Sam, suicide letter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Akuma_Wolf/pseuds/Lady_Akuma_Wolf
Summary: I used to wonder, if I pretend for long enough that I’m ok, maybe I’ll believe it, too. Everyone else has already been fooled, so how much harder do I need to try to make it real? I used to wonder about that, wonder about it a lot. But not anymore. Now I know it doesn’t matter. Because everything is still inside of me, and it’s never going to go away. The guilt, the hatred.The truth.The monster.Sam has finally had enough. While Castiel and Dean are both out of the hotel room, Sam writes a letter.Chapter Seven was deleted and revamped. It's a lot better than the original, I promise!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: Depression, Suicide.
> 
> This is in no way connected to Be Free.

_I used to wonder, if I pretend for long enough that I’m ok, maybe I’ll believe it, too. Everyone else has already been fooled, so how much harder do I need to try to make it real? I used to wonder about that, wonder about it a lot. But not anymore. Now I know it doesn’t matter. Because everything is still inside of me, and it’s never going to go away. The guilt, the hatred._

_The truth._

_The monster._

_I’ve fallen too far to be saved, to matter, to deserve having someone who’ll care, who’ll miss me when I’m gone. I’ve been a failure, a monster, a lie, a disappointment, to everyone who I love, and for that I know there are no words I can say, no action I can take to make up for what I have said and done. It’s too late to save what we had, I know that. My actions, my choices are unforgivable, and I know and accept that, no matter if they were done for the right reasons._

_I know neither of you can forgive me, let alone forget who and what I am, nor should you. There’s no use in trying, not anymore. Both of you have made it clear just how much of an abomination my mere presence is. I’ve noticed the looks, the postures, the cut-off conversations when I come in, the way you bite your tongue so we don’t start yet another shouting match._

_I know you both hate me, for what I am and for what I have done. For all the betrayal, choices, and pain I have caused you. I’m not trying to convince you to feel otherwise; keep on hating me. God knows I hate myself._

_You, Dean, are only putting up with my presence because of the promise you gave dad, you precious mission. That, and you don’t trust me out on my own. In regards to the latter, I don’t blame you. I’ve made too many choices, good intentions or not, that have hurt you, hurt others. I’m sorry you still feel like you need to clean up after your baby brother, keep him on a leash to keep him out of trouble, like a dog who won’t learn to mind so has to be chained up so he doesn’t make a mess._

_I’m sorry, Dean. Ruby, killing Lilith, everything… I was doing it all to either save or protect you. I know I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be fooled, but I was. I was stupid, and now there is nothing left to say, no way to fix what I broke, what I destroyed between us. Heaven… I don’t know what happened in Heaven, because while those were nice memories, they sure as Hell weren’t the best. I know you won’t believe that, you didn’t before and you won’t even now, but it’s the truth. After that voicemail you left, part of my hoped you would be the one to pull the trigger. But I guess it’ll be me, instead._   
_Thank you for being there, growing up. I know I wasn’t the best younger brother, but you sure as hell were the best big brother anyone could ever have asked for. I am so lucky to have had you, Dean._

_Castiel, I know I’m just Dean’s little brother to you on a good day, and underneath that the Boy with the Demon Blood, Lucifer’s vessel. I’m tainted, I know that, I don’t need the angels to remind me of that fact, since it’s my fault for trusting Ruby, for drinking her blood and then killing Lilith and opening the Cage. But I still want apologize to you as well because you’ve helped us, and saved our asses more than once. I know Dean and I would have had a lot harder time getting out of several situations, angel related or not, without you backing us up, healing us, fighting along side of us. I know it must’ve been hard at times, and that Dean was your mission. Honestly I was surprised you were able to heal me at all, given what I am._

_I heard you asking Dean about human love, and I heard my name. Why and how you picked that out of my head, I’ll never know. What I do know is how much worse things got between us after that day. I am so sorry, Castiel. I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. I knew at the beginning, when I first realized what was going on that nothing would come of it. It’d be a sin to you in the first place, but being a man who is also stained with demon blood, an abomination?_

_You were never supposed to find out. Ever._

_Again, I’m so sorry._

_Look after Dean, will you? He needs someone in his life whom he can trust, and I know that person is you. Don’t let him eat pie all of the time. And don’t let him keep teasing you about your lack of understanding of English phrases; I’m sure you could look some up that’ll trip him up._

_It’s just… we were pretending everything’s ok when we all know it’s not; I was walking on broken glass around both of you. It was like if we didn’t acknowledge that there was a huge freaking monster named Sam in the room, it’d go away eventually. I tried to wait it out, but now, looking back, I know that it was pointless to try and wait it out. But now, at least you two can relax, and get back to normal, ‘cause the monster is gone._

_Take care of each other._

_Love you, Dean. Jerk._

_Castiel, since I can say it here, and not see the disgust on your face. I love you, Castiel._

_Sam_

_P.S. I mailed Bobby where to find my body. Dean, if you could, please, go there when he calls you, and burn my body. I don’t want to cause problems afterwards_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mild verbal and physical abuse between two OMCs, and lots of references to the letter from the prior chapter, so also warnings for depression, suicide, self-hatred

Dean smirked into his bottle of beer, watching the group of college-age drunk boys he had just hustled at pool – twice! They couldn’t believe he had beaten them the first time so demanded a double or nothing round – as most of them gathered their coats and left.

He almost turned back to flirt with the busty, auburn-haired bartender named Jen when motion a couple of empty seats down made him pause. One of the college boys he had just hustled was talking in low, harsh tones to a boy a couple of years younger and who looked enough like him to be the guy’s younger brother.

“Matt, why didn’t you come over and tell me that bastard wasn’t as drunk as he appeared?!”

Matt wouldn’t meet his brother’s eyes, gaze remaining fixed on what looked to be a text book. “I was reading. I didn’t want to come out in the first place. And besides, you shouldn’t have kept playing when you lost the first time.”

The older brother smacked the back of Matt’s head, hard. “Shut up, you useless freak! Can’t you do anything right?! God if you can’t watch my back here, how the hell am I supposed to trust you outside of a seedy bar, in a life or death situation?!”

Matt finally looked up and met his older brother’s raging glare. Dean could see now the eye previously hidden in shadow was black; he suspected the older brother was behind it. “You haven’t trusted me for a long time, Shawn, no matter what I’ve done to try and earn it back. Why should I even bother trying anymore?”

Shawn huffed angrily. “Just get your shit together. We’re leaving.” He hit the back of Matt’s head again before storming out.

Dean watched Matt stiffly get to his feet, as if his chest or sides were bruised; after seeing the way Shawn had been treating him, verbally and physically, it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn he was injured at the hand of his older brother.

That thought led to the one Dean had been trying to drink away, one that had been eating at him for the past couple of days; Sam. He knew he was being unfair to Sam, no matter how justified his original anger had been. He should have been mature enough to move past it and fight alongside of his brother, not with him. Not that Sam did much fighting; mostly he just took the words and fists Dean had been throwing at him.

Watching the interactions between the two brothers at the end of the bar brought it all home. Even Castiel had been looking at him reproachfully the last two days when he snapped at Sam, whether it had been verbally or physically.

The tattooed and pierced busboy came out from behind the counter when Matt straightened, bookbag on his shoulder and stopped him from leaving with a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to him, Matt. He’ll come around eventually.”

Matt scoffed in clear disbelief, but covered the other man’s hand with his own. “He doesn’t like the thought of me not being a real man,” he said softly. “How is he going to react to… everything else?”

“Don’t you worry,” the tattooed man said gently, stroking the back of his hand on Matt’s cheek. “My sister has already said she’ll put us up; people in the city are far more open-minded. As for everything else, it can wait. And please don’t listen to him, he’s mad about what you did back then, and you did it with good intentions, and it did save his life, in the end. He’s just furious about how you did it.”

Matt nodded. “I know. I’d better get out there before he comes back and drags me out.” He leaned down and kissed the other man before hurriedly departing after his brother.

Dean downed the last of the beer and paid for it, now resolved to not have his relationship become as damaged as he had just witnessed. Who was he kidding, it was far worse. He just had to hope instead that he would find Sam in as willing a state as he was to try and start to fix things.

Yes, Sam had slept with a demon – hell, he had _drunk her blood_  – and that was just the start of it all. Demon blood, Ruby, Lilith, the Apocalypse, Heaven, all of the lies… it set Dean’s blood boiling in rage just to think of _one_  of those incidents, let alone them all at once.

The hotel was less than a mile from the bar. He parked in front of their room, barely an hour and a half after he had left at four o clock. The blinds were drawn shut, but he could see light oozing around the dusty drapes. Sam was probably reading or researching.

But the room was empty, and the bathroom door was open, light off.

“Sam? You in here? Sam?”

Silence.

Dean’s hand dropped to his waist and pulled out his gun, going over every inch of the room and bathroom, even checking behind the drapes.

Nothing was amiss. All of the sigils were intact, as were the salt lines.

Then he saw the folded piece of paper on his bed, addressed to him.

Frowning, Dean holstered his gun and picked it up. He barely got to the third paragraph before started pacing, hands clenching the edges of the letter written in Sam’s neat scrawl.

_I used to wonder, if I pretend for long enough that I’m ok, maybe I’ll believe it, too. Everyone else has already been fooled, so how much harder do I need to try to make it real? I used to wonder about that, wonder about it a lot. But not anymore. Now I know it doesn’t matter… everything is still inside of me, and it’s never going to go away. The guilt, the hatred._

_The truth._

_The monster..._

What?! What had even made Sam think he was a monster?! So some jerk demon fed him demon blood when he was still in diapers. So he had made some really stupid choices as an adult. It still did not make him a monster! Why the hell was his brother calling himself that?!

… _I’ve fallen too far to be saved, to matter, to deserve having someone who’ll care, who’ll miss me when I’m gone. I’ve been a failure, a monster, a lie, a disappointment, to everyone who I love…_

He still loved Sam, damn it! He was mad yes, but he still loved his baby brother. True he hadn’t said it in actually words in – God, was it years? He hated chick-flick moments, and Sam knew and accepted that. At least, Dean had thought he had. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Now, he was wishing he would’ve had the occasional chick-flick moment with Sam.

_…Both of you have made it clear just how much of an abomination my mere presence is. I’ve noticed the looks, the postures, the cut-off conversations when I come in, the way you bite your tongue so we don’t start yet another shouting match…_

He shouldn’t have let his anger get the better of him so much. Dean admitted that freely to himself. He should have moved past it, MADE himself move past it, and repaired his apparently very damaged relationship with the one person who mattered the most, who he would move Heaven and Hell for.

_…I know you both hate me, for what I am and for what I have done. For all the betrayal, choices, and pain I have caused you. I’m not trying to convince you to feel otherwise; keep on hating me. God knows I hate myself…_

Dean stopped pacing in the middle of the room without realizing it.

_…You, Dean, are only putting up with my presence because of the promise you gave dad, you precious mission. That, and you don’t trust me out on my own. In regards to the latter, I don’t blame you. I’ve made too many choices, good intentions or not, that have hurt you…_

Partially true, but damn it, they were _family_. Sam was his little brother!

_…I’m sorry, Dean. Ruby, killing Lilith...Heaven… I don’t know what happened in Heaven, because while those were nice memories, they sure as Hell weren’t the best…_

_…After that voicemail you left, part of my hoped you would be the one to pull the trigger. But I guess it’ll be me, instead…_

WHAT?!

Dean’s legs gave out beneath him.

Sam, his dear, sweet, baby brother had thought he, Dean, his older brother would really pull a gun on him and kill him?!

When had their relationship deteriorated so badly Sam thought his brother wanted to hill him? And what fucking voicemail was he talking about?!

_…we were pretending everything’s ok when we all know it’s not; I was walking on broken glass around both of you. It was like if we didn’t acknowledge that there was a huge freaking monster named Sam in the room, it’d go away eventually. I tried to wait it out, but now, looking back, I know that it was pointless to try and wait it out…_

“No,” Dean choked out. “Sammy…”

_…But now, at least you two can relax, and get back to normal, ‘cause the monster is gone…_

_Love you, Dean. Jerk._

“Cas,” he called hoarsely, his hands shaking as he finished reading the letter. “Cas!”

Castiel appeared a moment later. The angel cocked his head. “Dean, why are you on the floor? Are you injured?”

Dean shook his head wildly. “We need to find Sam.” He thrust the letter up at the angel. “We need to find him, Cas. Before he does something stupid.”

Castiel frowned as he accepted the letter. “I really wish you would stop – ”

Dean, having regained his feet, glared at Castiel. “Read the letter, Cas!”

Castiel’s frown vanished as he started reading. “He didn’t… he wouldn’t, would he?” he looked up at Dean, mouth open in shock.

“This is Sam.” Dean retorted as if it explained everything; in a way, it did. “We gotta find him. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him, Cas. He’s my brother. I love him. I can’t lose him!”

“Then when we find him, start acting like you are.” Castiel said firmly as he headed for the door, Dean hot on his heels.

“He can’t have gotten far,” Dean said, ignoring the part of him that wanted to argue with Cas’s statement; they didn’t have the time. He pointed for the woods behind the hotel. “He probably went in there. Somewhere deep enough no one would stumble – ” Dean swallowed the sob clawing at the back of his throat. “ – no one would stumble on his body he didn’t want to finding it.”

“I will search for him deeper in the woods than you can quickly gain access to. Pray to me if you find anything, and I’ll come to you. I’ll call you if I find anything.”

Dean grabbed two flashlights from the trunk of Baby in case the had to search past dark – ‘cause they were not stopping until they found Sammy! – before searching the edges of the woods for signs of a trail. He almost missed it, a couple of broken ferns, a broken twig, a crushed tiny oak tree; but it was a path, and it was fresh.

He hurried into the woods.

OoOoO

Castiel flew about the woods, appearing and reappearing, casting his Grace out like a net as he searched for Sam, looking for the feeling he knew to be the younger Winchester. Because of the engravings he had placed on Dean and Sam, he couldn’t just find him. It had been for their protection, for BOTH of them. Now he cursed himself at not leaving an opening for himself to track them.

Guilt, painful, shameful, human guilt was growing in his stomach as snippets of the letter Sam had left for them kept pushing themselves into his mind.

_Castiel, I know I’m just Dean’s little brother to you on a good day, and underneath that the Boy with the Demon Blood, Lucifer’s vessel. I’m tainted, I know that…_

At first, that was how he had thought about Sam. He had said so straight to his face, while inside wondering how such an evil creature should be in such awe at being in his presence.

Then he got to know the so-called Boy with the Demon Blood. He was kinder, more forgiving, more loving, more GOOD than some angels Castiel knew. It was puzzling at first, how such a person – when he had started thinking of Sam as a person and not a creature Castiel couldn’t remember – could go through so much, be thought of so lowly, and still come out fighting for good… Castiel couldn’t understand it, but he was surprised, and sometimes awed at the younger Winchester’s inner strength.

_…Honestly I was surprised you were able to heal me at all, given what I am…_

Castiel didn’t like the thought of Sam thinking of himself as something besides a human being. He was fighting so hard to prove otherwise to everyone else in his life, even his brother. When had Sam slipped so far, and why hadn’t they, why hadn’t he, Castiel, noticed?!

_…I heard you asking Dean about human love, and I heard my name. Why and how you picked that out of my head, I’ll never know. What I do know is how much worse things got between us after that day…_

Castiel’s actions in finding out Sam’s feelings hadn’t been intentional. He had been confused with a TV reference Sam had made when they had walked by an ancient telephone booth about angels having ‘the’ phonebox, and had caught Sam thinking of how cute his expression was, and how that was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with the angel.

Dean had been more than a little awkward with explaining human love, but Castiel got the gist of it. He himself had been feeling… odd… towards the younger Winchester, somewhat the same as he felt for Dean, but different, and dare he think it, stronger. He couldn’t fall for his charge. But no one, not even him had ever thought to be worried about Sam. Sam, who tried and tried, who proved himself to not be what the world thought he was. He was sweet, and thoughtful, protective, loving… how could such a person ever be thought of as tainted, as evil?

Castiel had been behaving oddly because he didn’t know how to act or be when one was in love. He didn’t know what to do or say, what was allowed or not. Was he allowed to wrap his wings around Sam and hold him through the nightmares the younger Winchester thought no one knew about? Was he allowed to give him a beautiful, rare flower from a far away mountaintop or an ancient tome from a long-forgotten library? Was he allowed to enter arguments when Dean was breaking Sam down into pieces and stand up for him?

_…I am so sorry, Castiel. I didn’t mean to. It just… happened. I knew at the beginning, when I first realized what was going on that nothing would come of it. It’d be a sin to you in the first place, but being a man who is also stained with demon blood, an abomination? You were never supposed to find out. Ever… Again, I’m so sorry..._

He had to find Sam. Find him, and tell he wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t an abomination. What was done to him as an infant did not define him; his past mistakes he was overcoming did not define him. The expectations of Heaven, Hell and their occupants did not define him.

He had to find Sam and tell him he loved him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: suicide, graphic depiction of self-harm/suicide aftermath, depression

Over an hour into searching, Dean had turned up nothing. The trail was almost nonexistent, and would peter out for yards or more at a time. Damn Sam and his hunter skills – not to mention his longer legs striding far faster than he could, and who knew how much of a head start he had. They needed to find him, and soon; the remaining daylight was dimming considerably as a storm raced in to hang above their location.

He had not heard a word from Castiel. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. He was just grateful the angel was helping him search for his wayward brother. He had seen the changes in the behaviors of the angel ever since he had been ‘just curious’ about human love and relationships. Dean had guessed his brother had a thing for the angel, and had been hoping said angel wouldn’t notice, but notice he had. And his behaviors afterwards towards Sam only confirmed Dean’s fears that the angel was not at all happy with the Boy with Demon Blood having feelings for him.

But all that mattered now was finding Sam.

Dean was reaching for his cell phone, planning on checking in with the angel when an ear-splitting, screeching wail he vaguely recognized as Enochian made him stumble and cover his ears; he wouldn’t soon forget being within that abandoned gas station and having the glass all around him shattering by a very similar noise.

But this one… this sound wasn’t screeching in warning, rage or defiance, but in heart-retching agony. Wind whipped by the hunter, shaking the trees as it rush by; lightning flashed and thunder boomed in a seemingly centralized point ahead of him.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, trying to figure out the direction the sound was coming from. Was Cas being attacked? Was it angels, demons, or something else?

He took off running towards – he hoped – where the sound was coming from.

A few moments later, the Enochian ceased as abruptly as it had began. The wind slowed to a halt, and the thunder ceased. Only occasional glints of flashing electricity marked where the occurrence had been in to begin with.

Not deterred, if anything, more worried, Dean kept heading in the same direction.

Nearly ten minutes later, the lightning seemed to no longer be in the sky above, but within an opening ahead, within the trees themselves.

Slowing his approach, Dean crept to the edge of the clearing, gun in hand and heart racing.

A human figure with drooping black wings over four feet long each was kneeling under the only tree within the clearing, an old maple. Sporadic electric sparks connecting the two wings would start close to the person’s back and flow towards the tips before dissipating.

The person was wearing a tan trench coat.

OoOoO

It was by chance Castiel stumbled upon Sam. The angel had felt the pull in a direction he doubted Sam would’ve gone, but he knew better than to ignore his instincts, especially now. So away he flew, abandoning his current search area to answer the call.

He found Sam slouched against the trunk of a very old maple tree. It was the tree which had called for him; its heart glowed ever so faintly with the Grace of an unnamed angel, who even centuries after its Fall and death still lent help to its brother.

Castiel had never felt so relieved as he did at seeing Sam. He hurried over, only to stop short; the ground around Sam and the tree was carved in a wide circle, with more marks within. It took Castiel a moment to put them all together, and realize it was a gigantic Devil’s Trap.

The angel felt his heart drop. Surely it wasn’t because Sam so deeply believed himself a monster, he feared becoming a demon, and so laid a trap to keep himself contained until Bobby and Dean could come and put him down? He crossed the boundaries, not caring if he would somehow be trapped with the markings. All that mattered was getting to Sam. But when he actually got over to Sam… Castiel has seen countless torn apart in battle, both humans and angels. Despite his love for some of his siblings who had fallen so, it had never had been someone he had loved as he loved Sam.

Sam’s arms, bare under the short-sleeved button-down were a mess of cuts, long and short from wrist to elbow, purposely placed over the visible veins under his skin to slowly bleed him out. One of his pant legs was also sliced open and soaked heavily with blood; Castiel had a sickening suspicion Sam had purposely nicked his femoral artery. The Demon Knife lay discarded at his side, glistening in blood. There was a bullet hole in the center of his right ribcage which had undoubtedly pierced Sam’s right lung, and another in his abdomen.

A line of dried blood ran from the corner of Sam’s mouth; dried tear tracks ran from his eyes.

His heart wasn’t beating.

Castiel dropped to his knees next to Sam, hands reaching out and touching the wound on Sam’s leg and the bullet holes even though he knew it was useless. The bullet wounds from entry and exit all healed readily, but the nicked artery took far more effort than it should have; Castiel had a bad feeling he knew why.

The cuts decorating his arms wouldn’t heal at all; touching a few of them with his Grace answered his fears; the weapon used to make them – probably the nearby Demon Knife – had been dipped in Holy Oil. They would’ve had to have been thoroughly cleaned before he could heal them.

But it didn’t matter. Sam was gone.

“Oh Sam,” Castiel murmured, voice breaking. He reached up and cupped the human’s face with his blood stained hands. “Please…”

But Sam didn’t answer him; couldn’t answer him, no matter how much Castiel begged and pleaded.

The angel’s chest was heaving, eyes wet with unshed tears as they glared up towards Heaven; eyes which were glowing a brilliant blue.

Agonized shrieks torn themselves from a human throat, thundering through the woods, gathering speed from the assistance of an building storm. As each tear fled down the angel’s cheek, the agony built within his chest until he felt as if it was being torn apart. He continued to scream in Enochian, giving voice to his mourning and pain. His wings were extended away from his body having burst free from their confinement, stiff with rage and pain; lightning danced between them, feeding off of his emotions.

Sam was gone. He had died as alone as he had thought he was, alone and unloved, when it was not the case; he shouldn’t have died at all. Not this way. Not by his own hand.

His Sam. His sweet, loving, caring, broken Sam. His Sam hadn’t just ended it with a bullet to the heart or brain. He had partially slit his wrists, nicked his femoral artery, and then shot himself twice, in places he wouldn’t have died very quickly from. He had died in agony, slowly, and alone. He had even seemingly planned ahead, and used Holy Oil on the knife; if it had also been on the bullets, the blood oozing out of the wounds must have removed enough of the Oil he had been able to heal him.

But it had been too little, too late.

Wings now extended limply on the ground behind him, Castiel shut his eyes in a weak attempt to stop the tears, and clenched his teeth to stop from screaming again, sobs wracking his body as he clung to the lifeless body of Sam in his arms.

OoOoO

Deep down, Dean knew what he would find when he approached Castiel, but his mind and heart raged against the dreaded thought that he had let his little brother die again, this time alone and feeling so unloved.

“Sammy…” Dean whispered as he stepped over the outer edge of the Devil’s Trap, giving Castiel’s still sparking wings a wide berth – he couldn’t muster any shock at being able to actually see the angel’s physical wings, and not just their shadows. He only had eyes for Sam’s body, cradled in the arms of the mourning angel. “Sammy, no…”

Castiel stiffened slightly when Dean stumbled to a halt and dropped to his knees. The angel, his eyes still glowing faintly, seemed to almost smolder with rage when they caught sight of the hunter, tightening slightly his hold on Sam’s body. “We did this,” he whispered hoarsely, brokenly. “We did this to him. With our words, our actions or lack of actions. This is our fault!”

Dean swallowed hard at the accusations, but didn’t try to deny them; why would he, when they were true? He didn’t want to think of it, admit it, that he had done this; big brothers weren’t supposed to do this, they were supposed to do the opposite.

When Dean made no move to deny his words, Castiel slowly handed Sam’s cool body over to his brother. A sob ripped itself free from Dean when he saw just how many wounds Sam had inflicted upon himself before he died; his wrists, and arms, his thigh, and his chest. He clutched his dead brother tightly, tears running unchecked down his face.

“No, nonono… Sammy you can’t die on me, not again!” Dean growled. A distant part of him shivered at the memory of Cold Oak, of his brother dying in his arms. But at least there, in the mud, Sam had died knowing Dean was there, and loved him. “Come back to me, damn it! I can’t…” his voice broke. “I can’t keep up this fight without you, man. I need you here…”

Castiel had pushed himself upright against the tree, remembering enough of his manners to send a thank you to the nameless angel who led them to Sam, and had born witness to his death before he stumbled away once Dean had pulled Sam’s body away from him, his black wings limply fanned out behind him. He made it barely ten paces away from the tree before he fell to his knees again. “Father, please… please bring him back.” He gasped out between the sobs he could no longer control. “It’s not his time, not like this. Please… Father, he’s important, to the fight, to his brother… to me. Please, Father…”

The storm was now almost upon them, raging ever closer. Dean could vaguely feel the rumbling thunder, seemingly more pronounced than usual. Castiel’s lightning display had ceased, but his wings were still visible. Dean wished he had words to offer comfort to the angel who had, in the end, done what was good for them, and not Heaven’s orders. The angel also clearly hadn’t been as enraged and disgusted by the thought Sam was in love with him as Dean had been thinking he was. But with his own brother’s cold body in his arms, all he could feel was pain. He didn’t have the strength to take on someone else’s yet.

All Dean could think of was finding the nearest Crossroads Demon and bully them into bringing Sam back. Hell, he’d summon Crowley and make a deal with him if it meant Sam came back to them. Sam would of course hate him for doing that; he had the first time. He didn’t relish the thought of going through decades of torture again. But to save Sam, he would do anything.

Castiel’s prayers went unanswered, as he had expected. The Winchesters were rubbing off on him more than he had expected, to doubt his Father. But His actions, or lack thereof, spoke volumes.

The angel knew the elder Winchester would most likely try and find a demon to make a deal with to bring back his brother; he had been the one to pull him out of Hell. As much as he knew Dean wanted to bring his brother back, as much as he wanted Sam back, he also knew what Sam would want, and that was stay dead. He wouldn’t want his brother to be sentenced to death again.

As much as it pained him, Castiel had to make Dean see reason, and lay his brother to rest.

Castiel approached Dean cautiously. The hunter’s eyes were shut, arms still wrapped tightly around his brother, lips pressed against the top of Sam’s head. He was rocking him back and forth, as he had the night their mother had died, and their lives had changed forever.

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Dean said roughly, eyes still closed. “We should do as he asked, and burn his body.”

“Yes,” Castiel replied softly. “We should honor his request. I understand you would rather seek out ways to bring him back, as you did after Cold Oak. But Sam’s guilt after that –”

“I know!” Dean interrupted, eyes snapping open to glare up at Castiel. “I know he felt guilty because of my choice. I did what I had to do to protect him!”

“You did what you thought you had to do.” Castiel corrected gently. “I beg of you, please do not repeat your past actions. I wish…” he trailed off, his throat tightening. “I wish I could find a way to bring him back to you, to us, as well. But he is beyond reach. We need to… we need to let him go, Dean. We need to say goodbye.”

Dean shook his head, hugging Sam closer to him. “I don’t know if I can, Cas. He’s always been in my life, even when he went off to Stanford. I don’t know how to be without him.”

Castiel knelt down across from Dean. For a moment he didn’t say a word, just brushed his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I wish I could give you advice, because I too have lost brothers and sisters. But never like this, it was always in battle. It wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t suicide, you mean.” Dean snapped.

“No.”

“I know you’re right, Cas. I just…” Dean trailed off.

Castiel nodded. “I know.”

Dean took a long, shaky breath in, held it, and slowly let it out. “We’ll need to build a –”

Dean’s sentence was cut off by a loud, violent crack of thunder, followed by sudden intake of breath, like a drowning man gasping for air –

– from Sam Winchester.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: torture, verbal and physical abuse, references to self-harm/suicide, depression

Dean and Castiel stared in utter shock down at Sam, who after scaring the shit out of both of them had once again gone limp in Dean’s arms.

“What. The. Fuck.” Dean demanded, looking up at Castiel. “Was that?”

Castiel placed a hand on Sam’s chest, glowing blue. After a moment the glow faded out. “He’s alive,” he whispered in disbelief. “I can feel another angel’s Grace, but it’s too faded for me to recognize, though it is familiar. Whoever it was, is strong enough to have burned out almost all of the Holy Oil Sam used on the Demon Knife.” He motioned to Sam’s arms; the wounds had knitted themselves up, leaving only pale scars.

“So it was an angel who brought Sam back? Angels can do that?” asked Dean. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Bringing a human back to life is well beyond my abilities alone,” Castiel explained, eyes watching Sam’s chest rise and fall, as if he believed if he looked away Sam might die all over again. “It either took several angels… and given Sam’s unpopularity within the hosts of Heaven, I highly doubt there would be enough angels willing to drain themselves to bring back any human, let alone Sam. But because Sam used Holy Oil, I do not believe angels could have brought Sam back.”

“Sooo where does that leave us?”

“Demons in possession of quite a lot of Grace, or an Archangel.” Castiel said flatly.

Dean grunted, before turning his attention to Sam and shook him slightly. “Hey, Sammy? You back with us?”

Sam didn’t move.

“Sam? Sammy?” Dean shook him a little harder.

Castiel grabbed his arm. “Stop.”

Dean looked at Castiel as if the angel had lost his mind. “Stop? I want to wake him up so I can bitch him out for scaring us like that!”

“Something’s wrong.” Castiel motioned to Sam’s face; his forehead was drawn in a slight frown, and his jaw was clenched. He placed a hand on Sam’s chest again. After a moment the angel’s mouth fell open slightly.

“What is it?” Dean demanded.

Without answering, Castiel grabbed Dean’s wrist. Next thing the hunter knew, the angel had flown the three of them back to the hotel room. Sam was conveniently deposited on his bed, Castiel and Dean standing beside it.

“What the hell, man? I told you I hate it when you do that, especially without warning!” Dean shouted, yanking himself free from the angel’s grasp.

“There is a malevolent presence attempting to gain entrance to Sam’s mind.” Castiel replied shortly. “You need to put up angel wardings, now!”

“But you’re in here –”

“I’ll be fine.” Castiel interrupted, seating himself on the bed next to Sam. “The wardings are meant to keep angels out. I need to attempt to get into Sam’s mind and identify the being attempting to render him harm. The wardings, now!!”

OoOoO

“I told you I wouldn’t let you kill yourself, Sam.”

Sam groaned as the wonderful darkness cleared within his mind ever since he had passed out in the middle of nowhere from pain and blood loss. He was in room that was the spitting image of Bobby’s panic room. “Leave me alone.”

Lucifer smirked. “Oh, c’mon now, Sammy. We both know I can’t do that. Not until I extract one, teeny, tiny, little word from you.”

“Go to hell.”

Lucifer threw up his arms. “Already there. Try again. Or, you know, you could just say yes.”

Sam sighed. He would just have to try again. “I’m not going to say y – that, to you.” He looked around. “Why haven’t I woke up, if you really brought me back?”

“I can only do so much from down here,” Lucifer replied, leaning against the wall. “Your weak human body is most likely attempting to replenish the blood you spilled all over the place, thus your current state of unconsciousness. Nice trick, by the way, using Holy Oil. I wouldn’t suggest using that again. I’ll be… very displeased.”

Sam filed that tidbit of information away under ‘get more Holy Oil’. Maybe if he doused himself with the stuff, drank a ton of it, and lit himself on fire?

“So, why the panic room?” Sam asked instead of replying to the archangel’s statement.

“Where else would I keep my demon-stained meat suit, other than in a cage?” Lucifer asked flippantly.

Sam flinched; as if he needed reminding what he was, especially from the Devil himself.

Lucifer laughed. “You should’ve seen your face just then. You looked like I just kicked a puppy.”

Sam decided to change tactics, and ignored him.

Bad idea.

Next thing Sam knew, he was bound to the bed as he had been when he’d gone through demon blood detox, and Lucifer was standing over him, holding the demon knife in one hand, and what looked suspiciously like a vial of black fluid; demon blood.

“Which shall we start with, hmm?” Lucifer asked lightly, hefting both objects in his hands as if weighing them. “Carve you up a little, or dose you until you’re begging for more?”

Sam struggled uselessly against the restraints. Of course, they didn’t give. “Neither!”

Lucifer ignored him, eyeing the knife in his hands. “I think I’ll start with the blade. I mean, I _know_  you pretty much bled out topside, but I didn’t actually get to _see_  it. I’m curious, to you bleed human red, or demon black, Sammy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam growled, glaring up at Satan with as much defiance as he could muster. “Only Dean –”

“gets to call you that.” Lucifer interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know. But dear big brother Dean isn’t here, is he? He told you he didn’t want you anymore, that you didn’t _matter_  anymore.”

Lucifer yanked Sam’s shirt open, sending buttons flying. The blade danced feather light over his now-bare chest as Lucifer tried to figure out where to start. He settled for below Sam’s floating ribs on his left side, a thin cut from center to side.

Sam groaned; the pain was just that, pain. He’d had worse. But it was going to get worse.

“Well, well, well, look at that. You bleed red. Huh.” The Devil made a face. “We’ll have to see if that changes once you get a taste of the good stuff it changes.”

“Fuck you,” Sam spat.

“Maybe later,” Lucifer replied, winking. “I hear you have a thing for cocks and angels. Is that true?”

Sam flinched, but ignored him.

“Ahh, yes. See I know all about your little crush on my little brother. Why go with a lowly little angel like him when you can have me, an _Archangel_? Huh, Sammy?” Lucifer made a cut on Sam’s shoulder and downwards, over his collarbone.

“I told you,” Sam hissed through clenched teeth, “don’t call me Sammy.”

“But, Sammy,” another cut, above his solar plexus, “If I don’t call you Sammy,” a slice directly under Sam’s collarbone on the opposite side as the first one, “who will? Dean hates you and doesn’t trust you. Castiel hates you. Hell, he can barely stand to be within a mile of you.” Change of tactics; a slice inside of Sam’s left elbow, nicking the larger vein there.

Sam blinked, trying to remove the tears lurking at the corners of his eyes. The cuts stung and burned, but – so far – Lucifer’s words were biting far deeper, as he most likely wanted it.

“If it wasn’t for Castiel being under orders from Heaven to deliver both of you for the Apocalypse he probably would’ve just smited you on the spot,” Lucifer continued conversationally. “After all you’ve done, Dean would hardly find fault. He’d be glad to be rid of you!”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Sam spat, unable to hold in his anger. “Why do you think I did what I did in the first place?! Because of _you_?!”

Lucifer chuckled, sticking the point of the knife into Sam’s flesh below the first cut. “Are you telling me -” he slowly eased the knife downwards, piercing Sam’s abdomen, “that you weren’t the littlest bit curious about my promise to bring you back? I know you. The first thought that crossed your mind was that if you were dead, the whole Apocalypse would be averted, and your brother safe.”

The blade was now half buried inside of Sam’s abdomen; unable to hold it in any longer, Sam screamed.

It continued on, the cutting, slicing, stabbing, for what felt like hours, both physical and psychological. Lucifer repeated, verbatim, every little thing Dean and Castiel had ever said to Sam or about him; one of his favorites seemed to be the voicemail Dean left for him. He also took great delight in altering his appearance to Dean or Castiel, depending on who he was making Sam remember. ‘Dean’ was more physically aggressive, hauling Sam off of the bed to beat him with his fists. ‘Castiel’ preferred to be verbally abusive, reminding Sam of how inhuman, disgustingly demonic he was, how he wished he could kill the younger Winchester.

It was during a moment when Lucifer was appearing as himself when he twitched, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Well, well, well. Looks like our little party is at an end, for now. Seems like our brothers are coming to your rescue.”

Sam coughed, a line of blood running down his chin from what felt like a punctured lung from one of his broken ribs – there were at least three. “Nice try,” he whispered from his position on the floor next to the bookshelf. “but I’m not falling for that.”

Lucifer seemed to find the occurrence and Sam’s reaction to it hilarious. “Oh, trust me, I wish I would’ve thought this up myself. Pretending to come to your rescue, and get you to say yes. Brilliant.”

His image flickered, and he changed into Castiel. “Don’t supposed, in trade for a farewell for now kiss, you’ll say that little word for me?”

Sam coughed again. “Go to… hell… where you… belong, Lucifer.”

Lucifer was unimpressed by his vehemence. “We shall continue this conversation later, Sammy. Toodles!”

And he was gone.

Groaning, Sam looked around the room, eyeing first the door then the ventilation shaft, looking for a way out. He went to stand up, but at the slight movement, his broken ribs screamed in protest and he fell back to the floor. His nose was also most likely broken, and one of his eyes was swollen mostly shut; bruises and abrasions littered the rest of his body.

“Sam...”

Sam didn’t even bother looking up. “What the hell do you want now, Lucifer?”

Castiel stared at him, a mixture of relief and horror. “Lucifer? He was here, with you, in your mind? How? For how long?”

Sam snorted. “How should I know? You’re the one who locked me in here, Lucifer.”

Castiel moved until he was standing in front of Sam. “Sam, I am not Lucifer. I do not know what he was doing, or saying, about me or your brother. I am not him, Sam. I found your body.”

Sam finally lifted his gaze. “You found me?”

Castiel nodded, dropping to his knees in front of Sam. "You were deep in the woods, under an old maple tree. It was the tree who called me to your position. Within its heart was the faded Grace of an angel. You had made a Devil’s Trap around the entire area. You used the Demon Knife, dipped in Holy Oil to cut open both arms, and your right femoral artery. You also used a gun to shoot yourself, once in the stomach, and once through the right lung.”

Castiel placed his hands gently on either side of Sam’s face, trying to heal the damage, but found he was unable to do so. He looked into Sam’s eyes. “I am real, Sam. I cannot heal you because this isn’t real; we’re within your mind. You need to wake up, Sam.”

Sam hesitated. “I don’t… I don’t know. Dean… and, and you…”

Castiel understood what Sam was trying to say. “Sam, I do not hate you, despite how you must have… perceived my actions. I fear I am not as fluent with displaying human emotions as I would like to think. And Dean… he was beside himself, finding your letter, and then your… body. He loves you, Sam.”

Sam looked so hopeful, but didn’t seem to be willing to trust him enough. He still thought he was Lucifer. “Why was Lucifer here?”

Sam’s gaze turned wary. “He was trying to get me to say… to agree to his terms.”

Castiel instantly understood. “He wanted you to say yes to becoming his vessel, because even an Archangel needs permission to enter a human.”

Sam nodded, wincing as he tried to adjust himself against the wall and shelf.

“Please wake up, Sam. Please. Dean is going frantic with worry, and I would very much like to speak with you, outside of your mind. You will be sore, but I will do what I can to help with that.” Before he could say any more, Castiel winced.

"What's wrong, Cas?"

"As soon as I realized an angelic presence was gaining access to your mind, I had Dean erect angel wardings around the hotel room. It is uncomfortable, but bearable," Castiel added when Sam looked concerned. "The wardings keep angels, even archangels, out of somewhere. Because I was already inside when they went up, it is... unpleasant." He cupped Sam's cheek. "Please, Sam. Wake up."

Sam hesitated again. “How… how do I wake up?” he whispered.

“Close your eyes,” Castiel said softly. “And focus.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Suicide, depression, torture

Dean had been pacing the grimy hotel room for over an hour after putting up angel wards despite his misgivings about doing so with Castiel in the room. Castiel hadn’t moved after placing one hand on Sam’s forehead and the other on his chest; his eyes were shut, and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

Sam, on the other hand, was breathing. He was laying on the bed further from the door which was almost flush with the wall, his body rigid and limp by turns, fists clenching the bedspread in pain as whatever had gotten into his head kept hurting him. Dean just wished Castiel would hurry up and kick whatever was torturing his brother the hell out of there.

Dean still couldn’t help but be grateful to whomever – or whatever – had brought his brother back to him, for giving his a second chance to try and make things right with Sam. He wasn’t even entirely sure when they had gotten so off track… well, that was a lie. It all had started with the Hell-bitch, Ruby. Everything had just snowballed from there.

Ruby.

Demon blood.

The Apocalypse.

Heaven.

Finding out Sam was Lucifer’s vessel.

And all of the smaller things in between.

A grunt from the bed had the older hunter spinning around, reaching for a weapon. Castiel was on his feet between the two beds, hands raised in front of himself, palms out in a calming gesture.

Sam, eyes wide and frantic, hair askew, was pressed against the headboard of the bed in the center of the bed, body twisted and knees bent as if he was ready to fight or run or protect his core from an attack, hands raised in front of himself.

“Sam!” Relieved, Dean started towards his brother, only to be stopped by the angel.

“Don’t,” Castiel warned. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” hissed Dean, “give me one good reason!”

“The invading presence was none other than Lucifer. He must have learned how to mask his Grace, whish is why I didn’t recognize him right away. He was torturing Sam in his mind, Dean. When I found him in a replica of Bobby’s panic room, his was covered in bruises and lacerations, with broken bones and barely able to see, Sam thought I was Lucifer. If Lucifer appeared to Sam as me, he very likely did so as you as well, to add psychological torment on top of the physical and verbal. Give him a minute.”

Dean stared past Castiel at his brother, who was watching them, warily fearful. “Sammy…” the nickname slipped out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop it. “Sammy, it’s me.”

Sam flinched, eyes flickering from his brother to the angel and back again, watching for any flicker of something off, something not quite right about either or both of them to tip him off that he was still with Lucifer.

“Sam.”

Sam looked up into Castiel’s eyes. The angel continued, “You are awake. We are real, both Dean and myself. Do you remember what I told you when I found you, in a recreation of Bobby’s panic room?”

“You said…” Sam paused. “You said you found me. In the woods.”

Dean, barely holding himself back, took a seat on the unused bed, trying to give Castiel time to get to his brother. Rage was humming beneath the hunter’s skin; it should be HIM reaching his brother, consoling him, protecting him, reassuring him that everything was… well, not ok, because things certainly were _not_  ok, but that he was here for Sam, that he still loved him. But he was alive, and awake. But he also knew it had been Castiel who had convinced Sam to wake up, and he would probably be the one to convince him they were both real.

“Yes, I found you in the woods.” Castiel sat slowly sat down at the foot of the bed Sam was cowering on, knowing it would be easier to get through to the younger hunter if he wasn’t towering over him, as Lucifer most likely had done while looking like him and Dean, abused him, hitting him, cutting into him with words and blades. “You were beneath an old tree in a clearing. You cut a Devil’s Trap into the ground around it. When I found you… Sam, you were already gone. You used the Demon Knife, coated in Holy Oil on your wrists, and your thigh. You also shot yourself twice, once in the abdomen and once in the right side of your chest, puncturing your lung. I do not know if the bullets are also dipped in Holy Oil, but if they were, you bled enough to remove it from yourself, and I was able to heal those wounds, and the one on your leg.”

Sam blinked, a look of disbelief crossing his features before he lowered his gaze, eyes hazy. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why did you try to heal me?”

“To stop the bleeding.” Castiel replied. “Despite knowing you were already dead, and knowing it was fruitless… it felt like the right thing to do.”

“But…” the disbelief morphed into confusion, and seemingly unaware Sam allowed his body to start relaxing out of its tight ball. “…why would you even bother? Why did you even…”

“You’re honestly asking us why we even bothered to come looking for you? Why Cas would try and heal you? Really?” Dean demanded, unable to hold himself back anymore, his shock shattering his self-control.

“I did what you wanted… what you both wanted. I went away.” Sam answered, eyes drawn to fix on the ugly flower comforter underneath him. “Why did you come find me when you wanted me gone?”

“We don’t want you gone, Sam – ” Castiel started before Dean interrupted him.

“I didn’t want you gone!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and causing Sam to flinch away from him. “Neither did Cas! And while we’re airing everything out, why would you think that I – ” Dean swallowed hard. “why would you think I would want you gone, let alone kill you myself?!”

Sam shrugged, eyes still downcast. “After everything I’ve done to you, to the world, how can you not? You said as much multiple times, Dean.”

Dean stared, gobsmacked, at his brother for a moment. He wanted to deny it, but he knew it would be a lie. He had been rude, harsh, downright cruel to his brother far more than necessary. He had enraged and furious, and had every right to be after the events that had happened. But he also should have been able to move on and work with his brother to find a way to get Lucifer back into his cage and prevent the Apocalypse. He should have been mature enough to do that with anyone, but his brother? That should have been as easy as breathing.

Sam, on the other hand, took Dean’s silence as conformation. “I understand, Dean. It’s ok. You want me gone, so I left. I also thought if Lucifer didn’t have his vessel, you and Cas and Bobby… you would have a far easier time dealing with him with me out of the picture.”

“We’ll find a way to stop him, Sam.” Dean said firmly; never, ever, ever did he want to see his brother dead at his own hands again.

Sam nodded. “I… I have a few ideas,” he murmured, dropping his head until his hair veiled his eyes. “He… Lucifer didn’t like the fact I used Holy Oil –”

Castiel caught on faster than Dean, and interrupted before Sam could finish his sentence. The angel shuddered inwardly at what he knew the hunter was thinking; he couldn’t bear the thought of Sam committing suicide – again – by setting himself on fire. “No, Sam. Dean meant a way which doesn’t involve you dying. And I agree with him.” The angel scooted closer to the younger hunter, who watched him warily, eyes fixed on Castiel’s chest, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. “Sam, despite what you believe, I do not hate you.” Castiel frowned, catching glimpses of conversations as they raced through Sam’s mind, ranging from the day they met up to last week, when he had been questioning Dean about love; he hadn’t known Sam had overheard that conversation until the letter.

Catching on, Dean opened his mouth to shout, but a glare from Castiel forced him to lower a few octaves. Instead of a scream, his voice came out low, guttural, and full of emotion. “Sammy, I don’t care if it’s what you think is the best idea; I don’t care if it was our best option. I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself, to take your own life to stop Lucifer from getting his hands on you. There are other ways, and we will find them.”

To their surprise, Sam chuckled humorlessly. “Well, as you saw, it’s apparently rather hard for me to die, thanks to Lucifer. He said he wouldn’t let me take myself out of the picture. Guess he wasn’t lying. That’ll come in handy on hunts.”

Dean blanched, thoughts of keeping his brother locked up for his own safety – not to mention Dean’s sanity, he didn’t know how many times he’d be able to take seeing Sam die or finding his dead body before he lost it completely – but knew better. Hell, it would make things worse between them.

Castiel leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on Sam’s cheek, ignoring when the man flinched away at his touch. Instead, he forced Sam’s chin up until their gazes locked. “I do not want you dead, Sam. I have changed from when I first knew you, when all I saw was someone tainted with demon blood and destined to become Lucifer’s vessel.” The angel held firm when Sam tried to jerk out of his grasp. “I got to know you, Sam. I got to know the selfless, caring, loving person you are. Such a contradiction from how you were made out to be. You changed my mind, Sam.”

Tremors had started shaking Sam’s body as the angel spoke. When Castiel released Sam, he immediately dropped his gaze again. “I still don’t.. understand,” he whispered. “how can you stand… me? Even if you don’t currently want me dead, how can you stand being so close, how can you standing touching me?”

“Because you’re important to me, Sam Winchester. Because you matter.” The angel replied. “Touching… it conveys emotion, caring, does it not? It gives comfort, reassurance. Love. We love you, Sam. That’s why you heard me and Dean talking about love. I wanted to understand you… and myself. But now I understand, Sam. I love you.”

Sam’s face, which had been a whirl of emotions, suddenly went blank.

“You almost had me fooled,” Sam told them softly. “I was… I really was starting to believe…”

“Sammy, what’re you talking about?” Dean questioned.

A sob escaped Sam as a tear ran down his cheek. “Don’t!” he snapped when Castiel reached out to brush it away. “Don’t touch me.” Another sob. “You shouldn’t have said the word ‘love’, you know. I know him better than you do. Dean… Dean I could maybe in my wildest dreams believe forgiving me and accepting me back. But this? No.”

“Sam, I do forgive you!” Dean said. “Why don’t you believe that?”

“Because you’re not him,” replied Sam, his voice creaking. “I was so close, so close to believing all this. Right up into you had Pseudo-Cas say he loved me. Someone so pure could never love someone, something as tainted as me, as evil as me.”

Before either Dean or Castiel could make a move, Sam snatched the handgun resting on the nightstand between the two beds.

“Sam, don’t!” Dean cried, jumping to his feet. “Please, put it down –” he broke off when Sam pointed the gun at him.

“I told you, I’m never saying yes!” Sam shouted. “I don’t care what you do to me, or who you appear to me as, I won’t say it! I won’t give you permission to use me. I won’t let you use me to hurt them!”

“Sam, please. I promise you, I am Castiel.” Castiel hadn’t moved from his seat on the bed. Slowly, he reached out his hand, palm up. “Give me the gun, please, Sam.”

Sam shook his head wildly, eyes wide as he stared at Dean. “No.” He turned the barrel and placed it underneath his chin. “Don’t!” he shouted at Dean when he moved towards him. “Stay away from me, Lucifer.”

Dean’s face crumpled. “Sammy, Sammy please, I am not him. I am not that bastard Lucifer. I am your brother. How can I prove to you I am?”

“You’re an Archangel, you could pull whatever answers to the questions I asked right out of my head.” Sam said harshly. “Why are you doing this to me? Wasn’t it enough to torture me, to remind me of exactly who and what I am, but you also had to do this? You let me think I was safe, that I was wrong, that I still somehow matter to Dean? Why?!”

The moment Dean hesitated, unsure of what to say to convince Sam of who he was, Sam pulled the trigger.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to selfharm and suicide

At the last moment, ignoring the pain shooting though his body Castiel tackled Sam, jerking the gun out of his hands. It still went off, but thankfully the bullet missed its intended target and instead buried itself in the wall behind Sam. Shocked at the angel’s sudden appearance pretty much in his lap, Sam’s hands went momentarily lax, and Castiel was able to pull the gun free and hand it to Dean.

“We are not going to allow you to do this to yourself, Sam.” Castiel informed the younger Winchester. “Just because my brother will bring you back from the dead, doesn’t mean he has to let you wake up conscious from that; look what he was doing before I arrived in your mind earlier.”

Dean, having placed the gun on the desk near the door, paused briefly near the exit to listen for any disturbances the weapon’s discharge had caused. But the noise coming from two rooms down – blaring pop music and people arguing in one above them – seemed to have safely swallowed the noise.

Slowly, Dean paced back to his brother, who was almost hyperventilating on the bed. “Sam,” he said slowly, “I messed up. I messed up big time, with you. I reacted like dad would’ve, without thinking. Yeah, you messed up too, with Ruby, and the demon blood.” He held up a hand when Sam opened his mouth to say something, “Please, let me finish before we start another argument?”

Sam hesitated briefly, but finally nodded.

Dean continued, “I know you were tricked, tricked into getting hooked on the juice, tricked into thinking it was a good thing, something you could use to help you hunt down Lilith, in revenge for what happened to me.” He swallowed hard, trying not to remember the feeling of the Hellhound’s claws and teeth tearing into him. Pain was also in Sam’s eyes at the mention of what had happened, and Dean felt a pang in his chest. He and Sam had never really talked about that night, about how Sam had been forced to watch Dean die, torn to shreds and unable to do anything to help.

“A part of me knew that no matter the reason, what I was doing, how I was doing it, was still wrong.” Sam said, his voice raspy. “I was foolish enough to think I could manage it, that once I got my revenge and killed Lilith, I would be able to stop.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I was so stupid.”

“Hey, don’t call my brother stupid,” Dean said, making a face as he sat down on the empty bed across from Sam. “Only I get to call him that.”

A small, small, true smile ghost over Sam’s lips before vanishing, swallowed up by a storm of worry, self-hatred, fear, and sorrow.

Castiel, finally satisfied Sam wouldn’t try and leap for a new weapon at the moment, released his wrists and sat down on the bed. “You were trying to kill a monster who wasn’t just an abhorrence in her own right, but had also taken Dean from you. You had no idea that killing her was the thing you were trying to stop; break the last seal and release Lucifer from his Cage.”

Sam flinched at the mention of Lucifer.

“Sammy, I truly have no right to be angry with you about breaking the final Seal,” Dean said, “it was me who broke the first one, when I finally agreed to get off of the rack and take over torturing souls.” Dean swallowed hard at the reminder of what he had done. “You’ve never been angry with me about that, never blamed me the way I was blaming you. I didn’t know, you didn’t know. I should never have blamed you for killing her.”

“But everything else – ” Sam started to protest, but Dean cut him off.

“You made stupid choices, and yeah, made them repeatedly. But you’ve admitted you made mistakes, and you’ve done everything to prove you’re done with that.” Dean sighed. “But I… I haven’t let you. I shoved you out of my life as much as I could, and remained angry at you for what you were trying to make up for.”

Cautiously, Dean moved from the empty bed to sitting on the edge of Sam’s, ignoring the bite of pain when his own brother flinched away from his presence. When had things gotten this bad?

Sam’s face was still a swirl of emotions, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “But you said… you said you were done with me. Done trying to save me. You even said…” he swallowed hard, eyes screwed shut, “you said I was a vampire, a monster. And you’d be right,” he snorted humorlessly before continuing, “you said dad warned you you’d have to either save me or kill me one day, and that you were done saving me.” He looked over at Dean, who was staring at him. “I know you hate me, but if you follow through on that… eventually, you’d start to feel guilty. I was just trying to stop that from happening, as well as stopping Lucifer. It seems like the best option to me.”

At the mention of the voicemail, Castiel turned to Dean, glaring. “Why would you say something like that, no matter how angry you were? Why did you say you were going to kill him?”

Dean shook his head wildly, eyes still wide. “I never said that! I – when the Hell did I say that?!”

“You said it in a voicemail.” Sam replied slowly, “you left it the night I killed Lilith.”

Dean blinked, his mind quickly backpedalling. Then he swore. “I left you a voicemail that night, yes. But that is not what I said!”

Sam gave him a small, sad smile. “Dean, it’s ok. You don’t have to –”

“Let me hear it.” Dean held out his hand. “I know you wouldn’t’ve gotten rid of it.”

Sam, confused, handed Dean the key to his room. “Room 13,” he said quietly. “Phone’s on the nightstand.”

Dean grabbed the key and left the room, carefully avoiding messing up the salt line in front of the door.

Once the door shut, Castiel turned to look at Sam, who was refusing to look up at the angel.

“Sam?”

No response.

“Sam, please, look at me.”

After a moment, Sam dragged his eyes off of the comforter to meet the angel’s bright blue ones.

Castiel slowly placed a hand on the man’s knee. “I know part of you still thinks this is an illusion. I will find a way to prove to you that it isn’t, so will Dean. You didn’t see…” the angel swallowed hard. “You didn’t see Dean when he found me and your body. But I want to show you.”

When Sam nodded hesitantly, Castiel touched his fingers to Sam’s temple.

_Castiel had been meditating when a hoarse voiced called his name – well, a part of it, anyways._

_“Cas!” the hoarse voiced yelled. “Cas!”_

_Dean Winchester._

_With a mental sigh and flap of his wings, Castiel followed Dean’s prayer to the typical small motel room to find Dean on the floor._

_“Dean, why are you on the floor? Are you injured?” he didn’t appear to be, but his breath was shaky and his heart was racing._

_“We need to find Sam,” he said hurriedly, thrusting a piece of paper up at the angel. “We need to find him, Cas. Before he does something stupid.”_

_This was getting old, to use a human saying. Castiel sighed again. “I really wish you would stop –”_

_“Read the letter, Cas!” Dean snapped as he got shakily to his feet._

_Frowning, Castiel did so. It took only moments for him to understand Dean’s worried statement. “He didn’t… he wouldn’t, would he?” he asked, looking from the letter up to Dean._

_“This is Sam.” Dean pointed out as he shrugged his jacket on. “We’ve gotta find him. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him, Cas. He’s my brother. I love him. I can’t lose him!”_

_Castiel felt a brief surge of anger at the statement; it was too little, possibly to late. “Then when we find him, start acting like you are!”_

_OoOoO_

_“Sammy…” a voice, a broken, hopeless voice behind him cried, “Sammy, no…”_

_Castiel raised his head up from where it had been bowed over Sam’s to look over at Dean. The elder Winchester was standing, arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes fixed on the body in the angel’s arms._

_Dean stumbled over to them and dropped to his knees; still enraged, Castiel’s arms tightened around Sam. “We did this,” he growled. “With our words, with our actions, or lack of actions. This is our fault!”_

_Surprisingly, Dean made no move to deny Castiel’s statement. His eyes stared down at his dead brother, tears in his eyes, and a sob clawing its way up his throat. After a moment, Castiel allowed Dean to take Sam’s body from his arms, and forced himself to his feet, a hand on the tree for support._

_Dean, no longer able to hold back the sob, broke. “No, nonono…. Sammy, you can’t die on me, not again!” he held his brother tight to him. “Come back to me, damn it. I can’t…” his voice broke. “I can’t keep up this fight without you, man. I need you here…”_

Castiel moved his hand back to his lap, pulling Sam out of the memory.

Sam was blinking hard. “But… but, I thought…” he trailed off, bewildered.

“You thought what, Sammy?” Dean asked from the doorway. A tearline tracked itself down one cheek. He closed the door and paced over to stare down at his brother. “You thought I wanted to _kill_  you?”

He tapped the screen of the phone. _**“Listen to me, you blood-sucking freak. Dad always said I would have to either save you, or kill you. Well, I’m giving you fair warning; I’m done trying to save you! You’re a monster, Sam – a vampire! You’re not you anymore, and there’s no going back.”**_

Click.

Castiel stared, first at the phone and then at Dean. It had been Dean’s voice, there was no mistaking that. But the sorrow, the horror, in Dean’s eyes as he heard the message – he seemingly had already played it when he fetched Sam’s phone from his room – made the older Winchester’s statement that it hadn’t been him that had left that message ring true.

“You said you didn’t leave that message, Dean. What did you say?” Castiel asked.

“I said it was a mistake to shove Sam away, that I was wrong, that we weren’t better apart!” Dean stated. “I wanted to find him so we could fight this freak show together!” He clenched his fists, Sam’s phone creaking dangerously. “It must’ve been that flying asshole, Zachariah! He said he’d lower the barriers of that weird room so I could call Sam. He must’ve altered what message I left.”

Castiel nodded in agreement. “That does sound like him. He does have a great power to manipulate what he wants. He was trying to drive Sam into opening the last Seal, and it worked.”

Sam was looking from the angel to his brother, shock evident on his face. “So… that wasn’t you?”

Dean took on of Sam’s hands tightly into his own. “No! I would never kill you, Sam. Not even when dad told me I might have to, and why I might have to.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it, Sammy. I could never do that.” He tightened his hands reassuringly; Sam winced, then stared down at the hand in Dean’s grip.

“That... that hurt,” he said wonderingly.

Dean immediately released Sam’s hand. There was deep wound dirt and dried blood on his palm.

“I cut myself when I was making the Devil’s Trap,” he murmured, fingers tracing the cut. Then he pressed his palm into it, hissing in pain.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’re you doing?!” Dean tried to pull his hands apart.

“It hurts.” He let out a wet sob-chuckle.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked.

Sam look up at them. “In… in my dreams, what Lucifer does to me, it hurts; it hurts a lot. But never like it did when I was really there, or even when I’ve ever gotten hurt on a hunt, or training, or anything else. It hurts like this.”

Finally getting Sam’s thumb away from the wound – which was now bleeding – Dean ripped a pillowcase off of a pillow and pressed it to the wound. “This is different, right?” he asked. “This feels real?”

Sam nodded slowly, eyes wide in shock. “Yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... this one is pretty much finished, maybe one more chapter. I like the way it's going, and am finishing up the other Sastiel fic; the Sabriel one, however, isn't.  
> Aaaaand... while I want to work on the other nonSPN fics - and will, AND have an idea for a Hawaii 5-0 - I've been thinking about doing an ABO SPN fic. it would be Omega!Sam and Alpha!Dean, with pairings probably Sam/Gabriel and Dean/Castiel. I know it's been done alot, but still. Thoughts?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER HAS BEEN CHANGED/REVAMPED!! It's a LOT better, I promise!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Suicide, self-harm, depression

It took some convincing for Sam to open up about not just what had driven him to suicide, but also to talk about… everything else, especially his hallucinations.

It took more convincing – a lot more – for Sam to allow Dean and Castiel to help him, and to understand that they actually wanted to help him.

Sometimes – well, a lot of the time – Sam didn’t seem to understand why they were still with him, why they loved him.

After the night Sam died in the meadow there were several instances in which Dean, Castiel, or both of them had to talk Sam down off of the proverbial ledge –

– and two times a literal ledge.

One of those times, Sam had silently stared at something behind his brother and his angel, eyes wide and fearful, mouthing words the two people who loved him couldn’t catch or understand.

He couldn’t seem to hear them.

"Sammy! Look at me!" Dean demanded, holding one hand up, the other out towards his brother. "C'mon, man. Come away from the edge."

Sam's only response was to violently rub his temple, eyes screwed shut before repeatedly smacking himself. "Make it stop, make it stop make it stop make it stop...."

"Sam?" Castiel asked carefully, standing opposite Dean, hands held up peacefully. "What needs to stop?"

At first it didn't seem like the younger Winchester had even her the question.

Dean took another cautious step towards his brother.

"NO!"

Dean froze as his brother stepped away from them, putting him less than a few inches from the edge the deep ravine, his whole body shaking like a leaf in a tornado.

"I - I can't - " his voice broke. "He won't - I can't tell..."

"Sammy," Dean murmured. "Please, take my hand. Whatever that flying asshole is making you see, it's not there;  _he's_  not here. We are here, Sam. Cas and I are here for you. We're not letting him take you from us again."

Sam was now staring down at his arms. "...hurts." he managed to moan out. "Wan' it to' stop..."

Castiel held out a hand as an offering to Sam. "Take my hand, Sam. I'll make the pain go away."

Sam shook his head again, just as viciously as the first time. "It never stops, it never stops! Always burning, always cutting, chipping, grinding, peeling! I can't take it... I can't take it anymore. I can't!"

Frantic Dean said, "You can, Sam! You're strong enough! Not to mention you have us! Let us help you, man. Come on."

Finally,  _finally_ , Sam met their eyes, his gaze as bright as if he had a fever. "I can't." he murmured, voice shaking. "I'm sorry."

Then he fell backwards.

Castiel jumped off the edge of the ravine after Sam, catching him well before there was any danger of further injury and flashing all three of them into the cabin they'd been renting that week.

Castiel settled down on the large bed upstairs with Sam in his arms, Dean next to him holding onto Sam's hands for dear life, running his thumbs over Sam's calloused knuckles.

It took almost two hours for Sam to emerge from that episode, to stop his shaking, muscles clenching and unclenching, sweat pouring out of his skin, and for some glimmer of sanity to returned to his fevered eyes.

"D'n? Ca'?" his voice was rough, as if he had been screaming but he hadn't been making a sound.

"Hey, hey. Take it easy." Dean said, squeezing his brother's hands as Castiel tightened his grip around everything else. "We're right here, Sammy. Not gonna get rid of us that easily."

Sam's brow furrowed. It smoothed quickly, however, as he started to recall the earlier events. "God... Dean, I'm... I'm so sorry...What did I... oh God..." he curled into a ball in Castiel's arms, babbling more apologies in a slurred voice, babbled for them to let him die, followed by him begging for forgiveness even as Castiel had to keep his arms apart enough to stop him from itchy bloody wounds into the flesh of his arms, ones he had already made the night before.

Dean ended up having to tape oversized satin gloves onto Sam’s hands using elastic tape to prevent him from making further damage.

Once he was completely aware again, Sam had sobbed silently into Castiel’s jacket as Dean stitched up and bandaged the wounds, wetly murmuring short phrases such as “I’m sorry” and “Please don’t leave” into the jacket’s fabric.

No matter how much they patiently assured him they were going nowhere, ever, not without him, Sam always seemed so surprised, every episode, every morning, to wake up and find them still there with him.

The second cliff incident happened when Castiel had been forced to leave and deal with 'Heaven business'.

As horrible as it was, it was perhaps a good thing the hallucination was holding the entirety of Sam's concentration.

"Leave me alone, please!" Sam begged. "There is nothing - " he seemed to swallow whatever else he had been about to say. "Why won't you leave me alone?" he repeated, his voice breaking.

Dean inched closer.

"If you're gonna keep bugging me at least let me sleep sometimes without-" he motioned to the empty space to his right. "without resorting to something like what we're standing here debating."

Dean felt his heart start crawling out of his throat.

Two weeks prior to this current fiasco he had arrived back at their hotel room to find Castiel frowning at a sleeping Sam.

"What happened?" he had demanded immediately.

Castiel held up a bottle of prescription sleeping pills. "I caught Sam attempting to take these while he was 'showering'," he informed the elder Winchester, using the quotation marks properly. "He begged be to let him, stating that Lucifer would bring him back, and that he couldn't take any more being exhausted."

Seeing the panic in Dean's eyes, he held up his hands to calm his friend. "I stopped him before he could, and used my Grace to put him to sleep." he paused. "I feel it would be... detrimental... to our work with Sam for you to bring it up with him and chastise him for it."

Dean hadn't liked that the angel had been right, but he had held his tongue, even when Sam woke up a whopping thirteen hours later, taken one look at Dean and Castiel talking quietly together - the hunter was attempting to teach the angel how to play cribbage - and flinched, waiting to be yelled at.

The shock on his little brother's face when nothing but a "Good morning, sleeping beauty" came hurt more than it should.

It took a few - more than a few, it felt like - cautious steps before Dean was close enough to yank Sam back into his arms before he backed away from his hallucination and right off the edge. Sam immediately started to struggle wildly, giving Dean a bloody nose via a head butt and bruising a couple of ribs as he attempted to free himself from who he thought was Lucifer.

"Let me go!" Sam screamed, "I'm not going! I'm not going!" he broke down sobbing. "I'm not leaving them..." 

Dean collapsed onto the ground and tightened his arms around his baby brother. "You're not leave us, Sammy. I'm right here, got it? I'm right here holding you; Cas is on some all-important mission for Heaven, remember? He'll be back by your side as soon as he can, faster than that if he can manage it." He started rocking Sam, ignoring the look of the early-morning jogger as she ran past. "I'm right here, buddy. Right here."

It took another ten minutes before

"...Dean? You're... here?"

Dean he let out a half-laugh, half- sob. "Yeah, man. It's me."

Other times, they would be watching a movie or something else on TV, and Sam would start shaking, eyes staring at a fixed point in the room.

Other times he would suddenly start banging his head against the wall, or the headboard, or the passenger window, or his own fist until Dean or Castiel could pull him away, pull him into their arms and hold him until the episode passed, all the while talking to him, grounding him.

They learned fast holding Sam and talking to him was to always be done over pinning Sam to the bed, floor, or anything else.

They almost lost him the last time they tried that method.

They had been renting a hunting cabin - they were finding cabins were preferable to hotel rooms, especially if Sam went into an episode and started screaming -  in the middle of Upper Michigan when Sam had started having a violent, but silent, nightmare, almost appearing to be seizing in bed, arms flung wide and unmoving as if cuffed down, startling Dean, who had been sharpening their bladed weapons.

"Why aren't you in his mind waking him up?!" Dean demanded, looking up from digging through their medical kit for smelling salts.

"Because Lucifer, whether a hallucination or not, is currently torturing Sam appearing as me." the angel spat, moving to kneel on the bed next to Sam and hold him down to prevent further injury as his flailing grew more violent. "Me showing up will just make things even worse!"

Dean snarled a string of curses, choosing to completely dump the contents of the kit onto the empty bed, frantically digging through the packets of Diphenhydramine, Aspirin, and Ibuprofen to find smelling salts, something they had found worked surprisingly well on bringing Sam to come out. Ripping the package open Dean hurried over to his brother, breaking the smelling salts under his nose.

When Sam finally woke up to find himself being pinned down, and saw Castiel… he lost it. A single, violent heave against Castiel and Dean’s holds, who had relaxed when he appeared to wake up, and Sam was able to free himself from their grips, shoving himself towards the door - and the weapons.

He got his hands on the knife Dean had been sharpening and with a strangled cry, plunged it into his stomach.

Dean caught Sam as he fell to the floor, nightmare-fever clearing at the rush of adrenaline from the stab wound.

"Dean?" he hissed out, almost ignorant of the cool feeling of Grace pooling around the bloody wound and healing it. "I'm so s-"

Dean shushed him, not trusting his voice to not break in anger or pain.

They agreed to never pin Sam again unless it was a literal life or death situation. If it meant more pain and bruises on their end, so be it.

Sometimes, if Sam was able to verbalize something was wrong, they would settle him between them, holding his hand, or stroking his hair, or talking softly. Often, Castiel would tell them stories of the world.

Sam had always enjoyed learning about history.

Even Dean got a kick of hearing some of the stories; it was like reading the juiciest bits of gossip, but it was real people, like from the history books, not just the latest famous person to catch the media’s attention.

Like Winston Churchill enjoying raunchy poetry.

Like one of the Pharaohs - Dean couldn't remember which one - who would always have sneezing fits during the annual feast in honor of the Goddess Bast... because he was allergic to all the cats allowed in her temples.

Like the Vikings not knowing what to do when they encountered the New World's red squirrels, who seemed to have a taste for their provisions are were not easily scared off, especially when in groups.

Like Blackbeard's deepest fear being drowning. Even Sam chuckled when Castiel told them that one.

Sometimes, the stories were enough to cut off another episode before it began.

It did appear that being in physical contact with at least one of them also helped to quiet down anything which might choose to rear its ugly head at any given moment. It took a little time for Dean to get used to that, and Castiel even more so, though the angel didn’t seem to mind.

That still left other problems.

It was a struggle to get Sam to eat. Some days he wouldn’t eat more than an apple and a bottle of water.

Some days he would eat a salad; occasionally even with meat.

Some days whatever he ate came back up soon after he ingested it, and he wouldn’t be able to eat again for at least a day besides sipping on some water and perhaps a few bland crackers.

Every night, there were nightmares.

Dean tried repeatedly to convince Castiel to share the duty of monitoring Sam as he slept while Sam was murmuring they didn’t need to, that he was fine.

Dean eventually banned the word ‘fine’ from Sam’s vocabulary, as well as his and Castiel’s in a show of solidarity.

Castiel always won the arguments, pointing out that, no matter what “Super-Brother Powers” he had, he was still human and still needed to sleep.

Didn’t mean Dean didn’t force himself to stay awake most nights until after Sam fell asleep, his angel beside him – or holding him, if the previous night had been a rough one – which almost always meant another rough night ahead.

Castiel didn’t mind his job of dream monitor. If he could feel Sam’s subconscious starting to flutter, he would try and queue up fond memories he knew his human had of growing up, of Dean, or of him. Sometimes even bits and pieces of a movie, or book he enjoyed.

Sometimes it worked.

Other times, it didn’t.

One night, all on his own, Sam had no nightmares.

Not wanting to ‘jinx it’ as Dean would call it, Castiel waited until Sam was in the shower before he shared the news with Dean.

Dean was ecstatic, right after he was panicked about Sam having taken prescription sleeping pills he might have managed to get his hands on.

He had tried to do that twice before. One time was when Castiel had stopped Sam from taking them while pretending to be showering.

The other time he had taken half the bottle while Dean and Castiel had run to get laundry.

Dean had dragged Sam’s body into the shower and blasted it cold until Castiel could get the drugs out of his system.

After assuring Dean nothing had been abnormal about Sam’s nightmareless sleep, the two of them had been able to share the feeling of victory, shaky and single though it was, it was by no means small. Not to them.

That night, Sam had an overly violent nightmare that Castiel was unable to rouse him from, and eventually his thrashing became so violent that they were forced to hold him down.

Thankfully, when he woke up screaming, he was well aware of who was standing over him, pinning him to his bed.

Apparently, Lucifer had grown tired of torturing Sam as himself, Castiel, and Dean (and Dad, Mom, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Jess, Jody, Madison, Adam, Pamela and even a young Sam).

"He hasn't had one this bad in ages!" Dean growled, crouching over his brother worriedly. "What the Hell is going on in his mind this time?!"

Castiel touched his fingers to Sam's temple for a moment before jerking his hand away, eyes wide.

"What is it?" Dean demanded.

The angel swallowed. "Lucifer... he is pretending to be Sam."

Dean's brow furrowed in confusion. "So Sam's being tortured by himself?"

"No." Castiel shook his head. "Sam is tied up behind what appears to be a one-way mirror, watching Lucifer, as Sam, torture us."

"That son of a bitch." snarled Dean, threading his fingers through his brother's, which were gripping the comforter beneath him like a lifeline. "Wake up, Sammy. Don't be afraid, Sam. I know you would never do that; Cas knows. C'mon, wake up!"

Twenty-seven excruciating minutes later Sam came out of the nightmare with a scream. As soon as he caught sight of Dean and Castiel, he began babbling apologies, almost incoherently trying to explain that it hadn’t been him hurting them, that it had been Lucifer, his breaths coming on gulping breaths of a drowning man.

He kept saying that he was sorry, even after they repeatedly explained that what he had seen hadn't been real, that they didn't blame him, that they knew he would never, ever hurt them.

Sam always, always said he was sorry.

It took almost an hour for Sam to calm down in Castiel’s arms, Dean rubbing soothing circles on the backs of Sam’s hands, his whole body shaking.

Castiel murmured stories about cowboys, about ancient pharaohs and explorers. He told them about watching the pyramids being built, the erection of Stonehenge, and the growth of the Great Wall.

He told them about the day the continents finally broke apart, even if it was only a hairs-breadth in diameter.

He told them about the wild horses who would come right up to him.

He told them about the pod of dolphins who spent an entire day playing with him and his Grace off the coast of what was now Hawaii.

He told them about watching the Aurora dancing in the night sky with the wolves and polar bears.

Finally, Sam fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
